Of Song and Steel
by Conteuse Vivante
Summary: A series of thematic vignettes. Part III: Concerning Elves. A certain Hobbit reflects on what he's learned of real live Elves.
1. A Solid Vessel

**Author's Note:** Here's the first of the collection, which can also be seen as a follow up to _Between Partings_. Hope you enjoy it. As a side note, I'm in need of a beta for future chapters. If you're interested, please let me know. Cheers! CV

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**Ithilien - 119 F.A.**

Legolas Greenleaf paused in his work to admire the scene in front of him. There, on the rocky banks of the Anduin, the skeleton of his vessel had already begun to take shape.

He smiled sadly as he watched his stout, tireless friend making his way from a wooded place upriver, awkwardly lugging yet more lumber for the ship. Although he knew the dwarf perfectly capable of handling the load, he sprang lightly over the smooth stones to offer his assistance.

"Do you not think to return soon to your own people, Gimli?" he asked, not without reservation, when the log was more comfortably distributed between the two of them. "You need not linger in Ithilien when the Glittering Caves await you. There are Men about who have launched ships in their day, and may aid me with the more troublesome points of construction."

The dwarf grunted a curse as he stumbled over a particularly large stone, and then was silent as they made their way back to the steadily growing lumber pile, tossing their log on top when they reached it.

"Fool of an Elf," Gimli muttered, almost to himself. "It takes more than a fanciful tale to build a solid vessel. Best to let those of us familiar with strong walls mind those who are happiest in a blowing gale." He dared a sideways glance at his longtime companion and then continued, in a louder, more jovial tone.

"Besides," he added, "it will take more than one to crew this ship when we're through. Immortal though you may be, I've yet to see you cleave yourself in two."

The Elf looked at his friend, who failed to acknowledge his gaze, before joining him in staring west, down the path of the river.

"Aye, Gimli," he said. "Perhaps you are right. I do not desire to attempt such a folly just yet."


	2. Distinguished in Defeat

**Amon Hen – 3019 T.A.**

A confident warrior knows when his party has the advantage.

A seasoned warrior knows when he is doomed to defeat.

And a proud warrior will continue to battle to the bitter end, in either eventuality.

Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain of the White Tower, was nothing if not a proud warrior.

So as his sword flashed around him at the seat of Amon Hen, the Man knew that he was no longer fighting for himself, and it was in defiance, rather than hope for support, that he sounded the horn of Gondor one last time.

And when they found him, the horn lay beside its bearer – like him, broken, yet dignified by battle.

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**Author's Note:** Still in need of a beta. Please leave a review or message me if you're interested. Cheers! CV 


	3. Concerning Elves

**Isengard – 3019 T.A.**

Of all he'd seen of Elves, Samwise Gamgee thought that it'd be the day the taps ran dry at the Green Dragon that he'd actually understand them.

To be sure, in some ways they were just like the tales he'd heard from Mr. Bilbo since he was a young Hobbit in his teens. But he'd also learned things he'd never reckoned on before meeting Gildor all those months ago.

Take Mr. Legolas for starters. Sam reckoned that there wasn't one Elf alive more or less Elvish than he. Always merry and quick with a song or story or joke, he was, but at the same time moving silent and graceful as you please. Running over the snow on the mountain, and laughing when there wasn't naught amusing about the situation to anyone else in the company, that was Mr. Legolas. For all the world, you would never know he was kin to Mr. Bilbo's terrible Elven-king, he was so light-hearted, and no two ways about it, there were no airs with him at all, particularly around Gimli, and if that wasn't odd behaviour for an Elf, Sam didn't know what was.

But there were Elves and then there were Elves, as Sam liked to say, and while Mr. Legolas was certainly Elvish enough in some regards, he was nothing compared to the likes of Lord Elrond, or Lady Galadriel, or even Lord Celeborn, who, along with Gandalf, talked for hours among themselves and gave off an air of being above the rest of the company, although they were pleasant enough to all. They were the ones who you felt knew enough songs and stories that they could fill whole days in telling them if they had a mind to, but were always troubled with something or the other. When you looked right in their eyes, though he could never manage it for more than a moment, you felt a kind of sadness, as if they had seen everything and that was too much by half. They were the ones who had a sort of presence that you could feel even if you couldn't see or hear them – the air around them seemed to be thick with something that caused everything they bent their minds to to sit up and take notice. Mr. Legolas, he liked to listen to the trees talk, but the Lords and Lady, they seemed to be the reason the trees were talking.

Councils being ended, farewells said, and leave taken of the rest of the company, the Hobbits continued on to the north. But even as they approached his beloved Shire, Sam couldn't help but feel that things weren't near as green than he remembered, as if a bit of the magic had gone from ordinary trees and plants.

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**Author's Note:** Many thanks to Laurenke1 for beta reading, and to her and Deandra for reviewing. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated. Cheers! and hope you enjoyed it. CV 


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